Road Trip Snapshots
by Shamelsshussy
Summary: Sequel of sorts to A Real Date. Brittany and Santana set off on a road trip to see some of America's hilarious and weird roadside attractions. A giant picnic basket! A tiny town for cats! Tina, Rachel and Quinn are along for the ride.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know what my problem is. I have a new job, and the Sleepovers fic to finish and like three original stories that I'm working on...but then I was like, huh. That road trip *does* sound kind of fun. The siren song of Brittana fic. **

**So, to keep this somewhat manageable, and not boring, I'm kind of thinking of this as road trip snapshots, little flashes of what they experience over the week. Hence the name. **

**And to those people who reviewed A Real Date - you guys are the awesomest awesomes ever. Really, you all have no idea how much your enthusiasm means to me, and helps me to be a more productive, creative person. Thank you. **

* * *

It's early. The heat of the day hasn't yet burned off the morning haze. The grass is still wet with dew, droplets dampen the hem of Santana's jeans as she walks across the Fabray's lawn.

She's carrying two grocery bags full of snacks that Quinn's mom packed for their trip. She peeks in over the top of one of the bags. Mallomars. Score.

She's smiling as she walks toward the car. Six full days with Brittany. Five full _nights_ with Brittany. This trip is going to be amazing.

The other girls…they'll be fun too. Quinn has been normal lately, relaxed and happy. She and Berry have sorted their Finn shit out, for the time being anyway, bonded over whatever it is uptight chicks have in common. Mercedes couldn't make it, she's got a family reunion in Missouri. But Santana is sort of psyched to have Tina along. Tina cracks her up sometimes.

The hatchback of her RAV 4 is open. The third row of seats is folded and stowed, as always, leaving them with plenty of room to put their bags. Brittany is sitting in the open trunk, leafing through a magazine, her feet dangling over the back bumper.

Santana slows down as she gets closer. It's been almost a month, but she still flushes with pleasure when she looks at Brittany and gets to think the word girlfriend. The scrape on Brittany's left knee, the bug bite on her right elbow, the fading hickey only half covered by the collar of her t-shirt - every imperfection makes her perfect.

Santana is close enough now to see the freckles dusted across Brittany's nose.

"You've got an eyelash..."

Brittany looks up, smiles, brushes a hand across her cheek. But the eyelash clings.

Santana sets the bags down, reaches out and brushes Brittany's cheek with her thumb.

Brittany nuzzles into her touch. Santana leans down, brushes kisses across those adorable freckles and at the corner of Brittany's mouth.

"Mmmm..." Brittany murmers nothing in particular, and turns her head to meet Santana's lips. Her hands find Santana's hips, fingers slide into the beltloops of her jeans. She pulls her closer, until she's standing between Brittany's knees.

Their kisses start out gentle - pecks and nibbles. Then Brittany's go roaming down the backs of Santana's thighs. They slide back up, fit themselves to the curve of Santana's butt, squeeze.

Santana feels the sun on her shoulders, the warmth of Brittany's body so close to her own. She feels alive and pleasantly hot. She feels fucking fantastic.

Santana tangles her left hand in Brittany's hair, pulls her in to press their mouths closer together. Her tongue slips into Brittany's mouth. Brittany sucks, hard.

Minutes pass. They don't notice. They're lost in each other, aflame. They suck and lick and bite and kiss and kiss. Their hands are all over each other, seeking more, more, more warm skin.

"Oh...my..."

Quinn stands on the lawn, a backpack slung over one shoulder, mouth agape.

"What?"

Tina rounds the corner of the house, stops short. Her duffel bag bangs back against her hip.

"Ohhh. Well. I think it's kinda cute."

Walking in on Brittany and Santana making out is now a daily occurrence for anyone who knows them. Quinn is happy for them, she really is. And sometimes it is sort of adorable to see how in love they are. But on the Brittany-Santana Scale of Gettin' It On that Puck invented, this is at least a 12 out of 15. And anything above a 6 is inappropriate for the front yard.

"I hate to ask..." Rachel has joined them, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her - it's red, with gold stars. "...but where is Brittany's other hand?"

Quinn glances back at the house, glad that her mother doesn't appear. Judy Fabray has loosened up over the past year. But she's not *this* loose.

A muffled moan comes from the pair.

"Ok. That's enough." Quinn decides. She strides toward them, clears her throat.

Brittany and Santana don't notice Quinn approaching. She's close enough now to see that Brittany's hand is under Santana's tanktop. Doing something that Santana enjoys very much, apparently.

"Brittany. Santana. Guys!"

Quinn is loud, but not loud enough. She looks over her shoulder for help.

Tina is staring, wide-eyed. "I don't like it when Mike does that but it looks like Brittany is really good at..."

Rachel claps a hand over Tina's mouth.

"Quinn, on three...One. Two..."

"SANTANA!" Quinn shouts.

"BRITTANY!" Rachel hollers, putting the full force of her well-trained lungs to use.

Brittany and Santana separate slowly, lingering over their kisses like they have to last a few years instead of a few minutes. Finally, they turn around, see the girls on the lawn.

"Why are you yelling?" Brittany's blue eyes are wide and wondering.

Quinn rolls her eyes and tosses her backpack to Santana, who catches it, laughing.

Brittany slides out of the car, making room for Quinn, Rachel and Tina to put their bags in the trunk. They're all impatient to get on the road; it only takes a few minutes for them to stow their gear.

Rachel and Tina hop into the backseat, Santana slides into the driver's seat. Brittany heads for the passenger seat, but Quinn stops her.

"Nuh uh."

Santana looks up from the GPS, where she's punching in their first destination.

"You two and your wandering hands are going to drive us right off the road. Back seat, Brittany."

Santana snarls and Brittany pouts, but Rachel and Tina side with Quinn and pull Brittany into the back seat with them. She settles in behind Santana, happy to find she can still play with her hair from back there.

Santana rifles through the sheets of paper and books of maps that Quinn's mom pressed into her hands before they left the house.

"I don't know why your mom made us print all that stuff out *and* bring the maps." She jabs at the GPS console again. "We have the robot bitch to tell us what to do."

"Better safe than lost in the middle of creepy West Virginia."

"Alright well you be Clark then, I'll be Lewis." Santana tosses the maps and papers into Quinn's lap.

Quinn raises a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"Clark did the maps. Duh."

They're grinning at each other now. No more Cheerios drama, no more boyfriend drama, they're really friends, maybe for the first time ever.

In the backseat, Tina leans over to Brittany.

"Umm...so..." She's not really sure how to ask, but she's so curious, she has to try. "Does Santana really like it when you..." She whispers the last part into Brittany's ear.

"Oh yeah!" Brittany nods enthusiastically. "She likes it even better when I do it with my tongue."

Tina flushes a deep red and sits back in her seat.

Put on some music before I have to hear another word of this nonsense." Quinn demands. But the corners of her mouth are still curled into a smile.

"I concur." Rachel pipes up from behind Quinn. "And I brought just the thing..." she whips out her iPod. "A specially crafted mix of..."

Santana surprises Rachel by holding out her hand for the iPod. Rachel hands it over, astounded into silence. Santana is equally shocked when she hooks it into the car stereo and the first song that plays is The Pixies - Here Comes Your Man.

"Berry! Drums!"

Rachel beams, triumphant.

Santana cranks up the stereo, rolls down her window. She catches Brittany's eye in the rearview mirror, blows her a kiss and they're on their way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, hi! Summer is coming! So here is some more funtimes summer roadtripping with the Glee ladies. Hope it's fun for you, it was lots of fun to write. :) **

**A few people asked last time if these places I've mentioned them visiting are real places. The answer is yes...sort of. I used the extremely weird and useful website Roadside America to do my research, tried to come up with a reasonable itinerary on google maps, and then stretched and embroidered upon places that actually exist. **

**And thank you all for the lovely lovely reviews. Your words really encourage me to write and write more. xoxo. **

* * *

You can't visit the World's Largest Picnic Basket without having a picnic, Brittany insisted. And Rachel insisted that you can't have a picnic without delicious fresh lemonade. And Santana insisted that you can't have a pitcher of delicious fresh lemonade without at least a little vodka in it. And Tina surprised everyone by producing her cousin's ID and walking into a liquor store like she'd been doing it her whole life. And Quinn thought it was all a terrible idea but still laughed so much that afternoon that she snorted vodka-spiked lemonade out of her nose.

That was yesterday. They're all a little sunburnt today.

The mood in the car is subdued for the moment. Tina is texting with Mike, Rachel is dozing on Brittany's shoulder, Brittany is staring out the window with a serene smile on her face. Santana's eyes are on the road. But every once in a while she flickers her eyes over to Brittany's reflection in the rearview mirror and then she smiles too.

In the passenger seat, Quinn leans her head on the window and watches the scenery slide past. Such as it is.

Tree. Tree. Dead tree. Tree.

She always thought Lima was the most boring place in America. It only has one Starbucks.

But in the past few days, they've been through plenty of Ohio and some of Pennsylvania and it is becoming increasingly clear that there is a lot more nothing in this country than Quinn has ever imagined.

The car rounds a bend and a sign appears on the horizon, about a half mile away. It's the only interesting thing to look at for miles around. Quinn squints at it, can't quite make out the words.

But Santana's doing 85. In 20 seconds, the sign comes into focus, in 30 they've blown past it.

FAITH WILL MAKE YOU WHOLE.

Quinn thinks "Luke" and then she thinks "No."

She turns to look again. But the sign is farther behind them every second.

Quinn settles back in her seat. Her thumb strokes the place where her left ring finger meets her hand. When she used to wear her purity ring, it would rub that place smooth.

"Where's the ipod?"

Santana looks over quickly. "Rachel's died. Mine's in the glove."

Quinn opens the glove compartment and retrieves Santana's ipod. She hooks it into the auxiliary jack and scrolls through the songs.

When she presses play, Santana raises an eyebrow. "I thought you hated Tori Amos."

Quinn shrugs. "I like this song."

She turns her face to the window. Her lips form the words, but she doesn't put any breath behind them.

…_maybe one day she'll be her own…_

* * *

Forty five minutes later, they've gone through Tori to Sarah McLachlan and then on to Dar Williams and Missy Higgins. Tina and Quinn are enjoying this heretofore secret Lilith Fair corner of Santana's music collection, but when Rachel wakes up, the first thing she does is blush and wipe her drool from Brittany's shoulder, and the second thing she does is recruit Brittany to lobby for a change of soundtrack.

After a little negotiation, Gwen Stefani's Hollaback Girl blares forth from the speakers.

Very little negotiation - Brittany pouted, Santana gave in.

Snacks are passed around. Tina pulls the August issue of Cosmo out of her bag.

"Ooh! Do the quiz." Brittany blows a bubble with her gum. When it pops, it leaves a shred of Bubblicious on her upper lip, the scent of sugar lingers in the back seat.

Tina flips through the magazine, Rachel hands her a pen.

"Ok. What's Your Passion Personality? First question. What do you wear to bed to drive your guy loco? A…nothing. B…"

Tina gets the giggles and has to try again before she gets it out.

"…B…crotchless panties or C…A lacy teddy."

"Like a teddy bear? That's just weird."

"No, Britt, like that black thing I…" Santana realizes Quinn, Tina and Rachel are staring at her and doesn't finish the sentence.

"Well, we know Santana's answer." Tina picks up her pen and notes it down in the margin of the magazine. "Brittany?"

"Does whipped cream count as…"

Tina hastens to cut her off. "I'll count that as 'nothing'"

Rachel is incensed. "Is that where the whipped cream went at my dads' end of the year slash congratulations on nationals sundae party?"

Tina shakes her head and mutters. "I don't know why we even play these kinds of games with them…"

Santana takes her right hand off the steering wheel and snaps to get everyone's attention. "Alright, alright, Brittany and I answered. Who's next? Quinn?"

"This is dumb. Um…nothing."

"Yeah right, you have clothes painted on under your clothes."

Quinn turns around to Tina, ignoring Santana. "Nothing."

"Got it." Tina scribbles in the margin again. "Rachel?"

"A teddy. But not lacy. Silk. And not from one of those trashy stores. And not without a capelet. And…"

Santana waves her hand in Rachel's general direction. "Too many mental images. Next. Tina."

Tina hesitates.

"Mine's not here."

Santana is intrigued. "Does Chang have some weird fetish that we don't know about?"

Tina doesn't answer. A blush sneaks up her neck and into her cheeks.

Santana bounces in her seat, unable to contain her excitement. "Oh my god! Are you guys furries? I freakin' knew something was…"

"Santana, you realize it's totally disturbing that the only other option you came up with besides naked or in slutty lingerie is furries, right?"

"Shut up. Give me a Twizzler."

Quinn shakes her head, but still peels a Twizzler off from the slab in her lap and hands it over.

When Santana speaks again, it's with her mouth full. "Spill it Tina, what's the thing?"

Tina is able to get it out when she closes her eyes. "He likes me to wear his boxers…"

Santana lets out a disappointed huff of air. "That's not even weird."

"I think it's sweet."

"Um. Thanks Rachel. I guess." Tina's blush is all the way up to her hairline now, the tips of her ears are on fire.

Before Tina can read the next question, Quinn sits straight up. "Santana, I think we should have turned right…"

"Fabray, why are you so on my ass today?"

"I'm not, I'm just saying…"

Santana jabs a finger in the direction of the GPS console. "No. Look. See?"

"I know but…" Quinn rustles around, collecting papers and maps. She studies them for a minute. "MapQuest says the same thing but I remember on the map…"

"Is this like, Flight of the Navigator now?"

"What?"

"Sam made me watch…forget it. Point is – you're wrong."

In the backseat, Tina and Rachel are glued to the entertainment that Quinn and Santana are providing. But Brittany ignores the bickering entirely. She catches the ends of her hair in her fingers, brings them up to the light to look for split ends.

"Santana, I'm serious. I think we should turn around. Or at least pull over so you can look at the map."

"Turn left in…100 meters." The GPS lady's voice is calm, her cadence measured.

"I'm gonna trust the robot bitch, mmmkay?"

Quinn throws up her hands, lets the maps slide off of her lap. "You know what? Fine. You're the one who's gonna have to explain to Brittany why don't make it to StoryBook Forest today, not me."

She cranes around to look at Tina. "Next question."

The car bounces over a series of potholes. Tina has to wait a second before she can hold the magazine steady.

"The hottest place you've ever had sex is…"

"Santana, don't say this car. Please."

"Wasn't gonna." She meets Brittany's eyes in the rearview mirror before answering. "Out by the reservior."

"Outside?" Tina is a little scandalized and a lot impressed. "You get _five_ points for outside." She hesitates for a second before adding her own follow up question. "In the night or in the day?"

"Night."

"That must have been so romantic." Rachel is lost in a fantasy already. "Stars up above, a warm summer night..."

"It was...pretty awesome."

"Yeah it was." Brittany pumps a fist in the air.

"So wait, where exactly…" Tina starts to ask, but Santana is already hustling the game along.

"Someone else go. Berry."

Brittany catches Tina's eye and mouths, "I'll tell you later."

Rachel is hedging around the question.

"I haven't um…"

"Well, the hottest place you can imagine having sex then"

"Well...uh..."

Rachel eventually stammers out something about a dressing room and opening night but Santana isn't paying much attention anymore. The road has narrowed to one winding lane. She lets up on the gas, grips the steering wheel a little tighter and guides the car carefully around the turns.

She glances at the GPS display. It assures her with a bright green arrow that she's headed in the right direction.

Santana makes sure her voice is soft, so Quinn won't hear.

"Whatever you say, lady."

* * *

"Santana, are we almost there? I'm really hungry."

"Have a Twizzler. Quinn, give her a Twizzler." Santana's tone is clipped, her words come fast.

Quinn recognizes the signs of a growing crack in the facade. She doesn't bother to hide the smirk that makes its way onto her face. But she obliges Santana's request.

Brittany takes the candy but wrinkles her nose.

"I'm sick of Twizzlers. I need a burger."

"Yeah, I'm starving." Tina slouches in her seat. "Are we almost there?"

"Uh...well..."

"Is there a problem Santana?" Quinn's voice is sticky sweet.

"No. There's no problem. It's just a...detour."

Rachel pops her head in between the front seats. "Are we lost?"

She catches a glimpse of the GPS. At some point in the past few miles that reassuring green arrow disappeared and was replaced with the much less heartening, "Your location cannot be determined."

Rachel turns back to Tina. "We are definitely lost."

"Maybe we should turn around?" Tina pops her head around Quinn's headrest.

"No."

Santana is sure that won't help. Her eyes flicker over to the gas gauge. She knows they haven't passed any gas stations for at least a half hour.

"Santana!" Quinn leans over, eyes widening as she realizes the gauge is at significantly less than a quarter tank. "Why didn't you listen..."

"Not helping!"

"I'd just like you to admit that I was..."

"I'm calling Mike."

Tina holds the phone to her ear, but she she doesn't hear the call go through. She shakes the phone, squints at it. The display shows one bar. She tries dialing again.

Rachel looks doubtful. Tina shrugs.

"Maybe he can help."

Santana takes her eyes off the road for a second to toss a withering glance at Tina.

"How? Did he put a homing signal in your tw..."

"Santana!"

"What? I'm just saying, how can he possibly help when he's in Ohio, we're in Pennsylvania and we don't even know where we are."

"So you _admit_ that you don't know where we are?"

"Fuck you, Fabray."

"Don't get snotty with me because you..."

Rachel suddenly notices how gray the sky has gotten.

"Was that a drop of rain?"

Tina glances out the window at the ominous clouds. A rumble of thunder sounds, uncomfortably close.

"We're gonna die. In Pennsylvania."

"Santana, if you hadn't been so…"

"It's not my..."

"Really? 'Cause no one else was driving."

"I have to agree with Quinn, Santana, she did say..."

"...totally gonna die."

"Oh my GOD!"

Brittany is practically standing up in her seat, pointing at a small, weathered sign nailed to a tree up ahead.

"Do you guys know where we are?"

"Uh. No, Brittany. That's the fight." Tina leans around Rachel, trying to see what Brittany is pointing at.

"No, I know, Santana got us lost."

"Jeez, Britt..." Santana's tone is wounded.

"...but look."

Tina can see the sign now. Faded block letters spell out "Tiny World! 5 miles."

"Brittany, what…"

"Tiny World! C'mon. Tiny! World!"

Brittany looks around expectantly. Three blank stares look back at her. Santana can't look, she's busy maneuvering the car around a possum carcass.

"Seriously? You seriously don't know about Tiny World?" Brittany shakes her head sadly. "The public education system is really failing our generation. Santana. Tell them!"

"You know what she's talking about?" Quinn whispers.

"Yeah…" Santana mutters, sheepishly. But she can't hide her grin.

She raises her voice to address the backseat. "Tiny World was born in the late 1980s when Earnest Helm, a retired factory foreman, decided to fill his days by building a scale model Victorian home…for his cats."

Tina leans in to Rachel. "Did she say cats?"

"She said cats."

Brittany can't take it any more. "Then he built a whole town! It's a tiny cat town!"

"A tiny…cat…town…" Quinn repeats.

"Shit!" Santana swerves around a cat that appears out of nowhere, in the middle of the road.

"I can't believe we're actually here. I totally wanted to put it on the itinerary, but it was really far in the wrong direction…"

"Ha!" Quinn pokes a Twizzler in Santana's side.

"Alright, alright, you were right, I was wrong! Are you happy now?"

It's not so much a parking lot as a field of dirt. Santana has her pick of spots, there's only one other car in evidence.

"Yes. I am extremely happy now." Quinn whips Santana's wrist lightly with the Twizzler.

"I'll be happy if there's a human sized bathroom." Tina puts on her sunglasses. Quinn ties her shoes. Rachel checks to make sure she has her camera.

One by one, they jump out of the car and head up to the strangely imposing gates.

Brittany waits, opens the drivers side door for Santana.

"Hey, baby."

"Hey..."

They grin at each other for a second, but Brittany can't wait longer than that to lean in for a kiss.

"Mmm. You're always yummy."

Still kissing, Santana slides out of the drivers seat and into Brittany's arms. Brittany closes the car door behind Santana, maneuvers her so she's pressed up against the passenger door.

Santana buries her nose in Brittany's neck.

"Sorry I got us lost…"

Brittany lets her head loll to the left, Santana nips gently at her collar bone, drags her tongue up toward Brittany's ear.

"Ah…" Brittany giggles. "Mmmyeah, but you found _Tiny World_."

"Even by accident I'm the best girlfriend ever."

"Best. Girlfriend. Ever." With each word, Brittany grinds her hips harder against Santana.

"Shiiit. Brittany…"

"Hey! Hey!" Quinn's voice carries easily across the empty parking lot. "You two better get over here. This is your bizarre tiny cat town dream come true, not mine."

"Oh my god, Brittany! KITTENS!" Rachel squeals from somewhere beyond the gates.

Brittany shrieks, a little too close to Santana's ear. But it's just fine.

The threatening clouds have rolled away, the sun beats down on Santana's shoulders as Brittany tugs her into a run across the parking lot. And as far as Santana is concerned, everything is finally just about perfectly fucking fine.

* * *

**Fun? FUN!**

**So, yep. Tiny World is real. Although apparently it's fallen into disrepair as of late. My linking isn't working here tonight for some reason, but check it out on Roadside America. **


	3. Chapter 3

**um. hi. *waves tentatively***

**I know I've been gone for a hella long time. But my gf and I had our big lesbian wedding this summer, and that was superawesome and rather time consuming. Having a wife is HOT, I highly recommend it. But anyway I'm back to a sort of regular schedule now, I still HEARTZ Brittana and I still mean to finish all the fics that I've left hanging. Summer's ending, so I figured I'd start to tie up this summer roadtrip fic first. I think there will be just one more chapter after this one.**

**As before in this series, it's roadtrip hijinks for Santana and Brittany, Rachel, Quinn and Tina, with a little character development along the way. Hope you like it!**

* * *

"Why are we here so early?"

Brittany buries her face in Santana's shoulder, drapes one arm over her shoulders and the other at her right hip. She had barely been awake when Santana had prodded her out of bed and hustled her into the car. She dozed as they drove and woke up cranky when they rolled into the Hershey Park parking lot.

Sharing hotel rooms with Santana for four nights running hadn't afforded her much sleep lately.

"Quinn has a fetish for costumed characters."

Santana wraps Brittany's arm around her waist and grins. She is fully awake, hair sleek, eyes shining. She has always been an early riser and a night full of Brittany has only made her more eager for another day with her.

Before the trip, Puck made all kinds of disgusting comments about what she and Brittany might do in motels across the state of Pennsylvania. But the reality is they can have any kind of sex they want in Santana's empty house, all day, any day. On this trip, it's the domestic joys that are infused with a new and exciting flavor.

Santana has brushed her teeth next to Brittany thousands of times in the years they had known each other. But now she is brushing her teeth next to her _girlfriend. W_atching her _girlfriend_ pick out socks that mis-match just perfectly. Giving in to her _girlfriend_ when she wants to stay up and watch old Nickelodeon cartoons at 2 in the morning.

As they wrestle and giggle and pillow fight, pinch and fuck and talk all night, Santana sometimes has to stop, put her head down on Brittany's chest, wait to hear her heart pound out a few beats - Best-Friend. Girl-Friend. Best-Girl.

Quinn has to admit, sleepy Brittany hanging all over bouncy Santana is pretty darn cute. She's glad to see her friends so relaxed and happy.

But Santana is still a huge pain in her ass.

"I don't have a fetish, Santana. You keep calling everything anybody likes a fetish."

"Maybe she has a fetish for fetishes," Tina yawns. "Can we please get in there and get some coffee now?"

"Yes!"

Quinn leads the way, almost skipping. She doesn't have a fetish for costumed characters, but she does absolutely love character breakfasts. It doesn't even matter what characters - Disney Princesses, Scooby Doo, Spongebob, a sentient Hershey Bar - she just loves watching little kids gape and grin. Raised in a family that spent every breakfast and dinner at the table, quietly and politely passing the salt when asked and doing nothing interesting whatsoever, Quinn has always found character breakfasts so unusual and noisy, a normal morning shot through with yelps of delight.

On the last Fabray family vacation ever, a cruise, Quinn had tried to sound nonchalant when she mentioned the Dreamworks character breakfast to her mother.

"Oh, honey, we thought you'd be too old for that, so I didn't book it. I have us down for the day trip to St. Kitts instead. I hear they have a duty-free zone..."

Quinn had shrugged it off, not willing to admit to her mother that even at 15 she really, really, really wanted to have waffles with Shrek.

When they got home, she dug a shoebox out from under her bed and laid her autograph book in it - on top of fading valentines from 2nd grade and her diary from middle school and ragged edged stories she had written, ripped out of her math notebooks. She slid the shoebox out of sight.

When Santana had passed her a Hershey Park brochure a few days ago and pointed at the back page, she had pretended not to know why Santana was showing her this.

"Q, don't pretend you don't love this shit. I've snooped through that box under your bed so many times it's boring."

"...Well. We can't anyway. It's only for people who stay at the park hotels, see?"

"Yeah, like that's gonna stop me. 10 dollars and a little cleavage and we're in. ...unph! Quinn...you're crushing my larynx."

Quinn unwound her ams from around Santana's neck and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

"You love me."

Santana had rolled her eyes, but she was the one who got everyone out of bed on time, she was the one who drove an hour and a half on a shitty cup of gas station coffee so they could be at the park by 8. And now she is the one sweet-talking the gate attendant.

Brittany looking warm and snoozy and snuggling into Santana's neck doesn't hurt the cause. The attendant looks back and forth between them, wets his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue.

"If I let you in maybe I could get your number?"

"Why don't you let us in and find out?"

The boy grins, plays at swinging the service gate open, but doesn't quite give in yet.

The manufactured scent of chocolate creeps out of the park and wafts over them. Quinn thinks about the letter Shelby had sent a few months ago. Beth is walking, she loves homemade applesauce. They're going to Disney World in the fall, with Shelby's sister and her kids.

Quinn hadn't known what to write back. But maybe now she'll write and ask if they are going for breakfast in the park. Beth might really like a life-sized Tigger.

Unless it would scare her.

Quinn chews the inside of her cheek - her eyes lose their focus as she thinks of Beth crying, hiding her face against her mother, her tears and spit wet on Shelby's neck.

"Hey. Santana got us in."

Quinn looks up. The gate attendant is blushing, putting a number Quinn knows is fake into his phone. Tina and Brittany sail through the service gate; he has swung it wide open.

Quinn is relieved to be rescued from her reverie. The sun is hot on her shoulders, she has a cute bikini on underneath her sundress. Her big plans for the immediate future involve chocolate chip pancakes, a sunburn, some watersides and absolutely no baby spit on her skin. She isn't always so sure of herself, but today, that sounds exactly right.

"Got your camera?"

"Of course."

"C'mon then. Take my picture with the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup."

* * *

Rachel was right, they should have stopped to eat a real lunch. But it just hadn't happened that way.

Immediately after breakfast, Brittany pointed them in the direction of the biggest, fastest roller coaster. She loved the way coasters disoriented her body. But she absolutely hated a waiting in long lines, and always knew to ride the best rides first, and earliest in the day.

On the way, they passed a candy shop. Tina had to stop to buy a giant lollipop. She had vowed as a child to one day eat the whole thing and this, her first time at an amusement park without a parent, teacher, or other responsible adult to tell her that was a terrible idea, was her first chance to try. Brittany bought a bag of Hershey's kisses and kept feeding them to Santana and Quinn, who ate them without question - Santana biting hers with her front teeth, Quinn sucking until the chocolate melted into a sour tang in the corners of her mouth. Rachel wrinkled her nose at all the chocolate but fell on a bag of Jolly Ranchers and started popping them like they were...candy.

Coming off their third roller coaster an hour and a half later, a s'mores cart glittered like a mirage in the distance. Santana and Brittany had exchanged a sappy glance and headed right for it. The other girls weren't quite sure what was so emotional about s'mores, but the smell of toasted marshmallows was pretty mouthwatering, regardless.

"Did you get a peanut butter cup on your s'more?"

Quinn nodded, bringing up the heel of her hand to wipe a smear of chocolate from her chin. "Want some?"

"Nah." Tina stubbornly licked at her lollipop. It was definitely stickier, but it didn't seem to be getting any smaller.

After another couple of rides, there was some talk of lunch, but Santana wanted to hit the water rides and convinced everyone that a wave pool on a stomach full of greasy fries is just disgusting.

Rachel and Quinn got hungry while floating around on the lazy river, but they thought maybe they should wait for the others to get back from the water slides, and just got some kettle corn to eat while they waited.

But when Brittany, Tina and Santana found them again, Santana had succumbed to the allure of a fried candy bar, Tina was still working on her lollipop and no one was really hungry except for Brittany.

Brittany made them promise to really eat after the Ferris wheel. Santana bought her a cotton candy to tide her over. Santana also flashed another ten-dollar bill and eyeful of cleavage at the boy running the ride and scored herself and Brittany their own private car. When they climbed off the ride 20 minutes later, the cotton candy was gone, Santana's fingers, Brittany's neck and both their mouths were sticky, Brittany's hair was a complete mess and she wasn't thinking about food at all anymore.

By 3:00, Tina's lollipop is half gone and a crash is imminent for all of them.

Santana falls first.

"Brittany, stop. It's hot."

Brittany has been sitting on a low rail fence that surrounds the line for the bumper cars. They've been in line for almost a half hour. No one's complained, because it's in the shade and four days in a car together has given them a few reasons to look forward to the opportunity to really smash the shit out of each other. But Brittany is antsy. She keeps swinging her feet out, bumping Santana with her legs, ankles and the soles of her sneakers, unbalancing her, making her shift her weight, step forward and back. She's made it a game, and now she's trying to get Santana to move in a perfect square.

"Seriously, _stop_."

Brittany ignores her. This is fun.

She kicks her right leg out and over, meaning to bump Santana at the top of her calf. Instead she catches her behind the knee, making her legs buckle. Santana stumbles forward, puts her palms out to catch herself, ends up clinging to the sweaty t-shirt of the man in front of her.

He turns around, glaring. He's holding his daughter, and doesn't appreciate the shove.

"Watch it."

Santana has started to say sorry but the woman in front of the guy is involved now.

"Yeah, wanna keep your hands off my husband?"

The guy is gross. Hairy neck and ears, skinny as a beanpole except for a protruding beer gut that rises like bread dough under his Kid Rock concert tee.

Santana's head pounds, she feels bloated yet empty inside. It's so hot and she's suddenly exhausted. She wipes the hand that touched him on the side of her shorts.

She knows she should let it go. Rachel and Quinn and Tina are staring at her so hard, the words "LET IT GO" practically streaming out of their foreheads.

When she doesn't answer, the guy chuckles, the wife sneers. The line moves an infininitesimal amount forward and the moment is broken.

Brittany takes the opportunity to reach out and pull Santana closer to her, further away from the couple.

"Come, stay with me."

"Britt, no, it's HOT. It's your fault that bitch got up in my grill anyway."

"Yeah, but just…"

"GOD. I told you to leave me alone!"

Santana wrenches her arm away from Brittany, crosses her arms, pressing hard against her own ribs.

Brittany's chin trembles, a soft, crumpled sound comes from her throat.

Quinn glares at Santana. Rachel watches a boy snarfing down a funnel cake and looks pretty green.

Tina takes one last lick of her lollipop, tosses the rest in the trash and makes an executive decision.

"We're done here."

* * *

They're willing to spring for a decent hotel. Quinn jumps out and tries to book rooms while Tina keeps the motor running, air conditioning up on high. Rachel sits in the back seat, cringing away from Santana and Brittany who are making up with each other in soft whispers that rapidly devolve into muffled moans.

But the first hotel is booked and the second hotel is booked, and the third…The annual meeting of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, the Little Miss Galaxy Glitz pageant, Gardenfest, an antique car show and a special appearance by a U2 tribute band called UsToo! have conspired to snatch up almost every available room in a 15 mile radius.

They find themselves in a motel on the highway, at the far edge town.

"At least it has a pool..."

It does have a pool - a shimmering oval, smack in the middle of a blacktop parking lot, reeking of bleach. There are no palms to be seen.

"Ugh. Whatever. Nap time." Santana hoists her duffel bag up on to her shoulder and twines her fingers into Brittanys, pulling her toward room 10.

Quinn grabs her bag, slams the hatchback shut.

"What about dinner?"

"I can't eat for at least another hour or two."

Tina's tongue still feels fuzzy and raw from the lollipop."

Santana is toying with the hem of Brittany's loose t-shirt. She and Brittany have forgotten all about food again.

Rachel comes out of the office, holding up a few pieces of paper.

"I spoke to the gentleman at the desk and he was kind enough to recommend some Italian fare in the vicinity."

"Huh?" Brittany looks up, squinting against the sun.

"Pizza. We can order later, when everyone feels better." Tina translates.

"Awesome. Pizza later. Nap now." Santana twirls her key on her index finger.

No one disagrees.

* * *

"Anyone else up yet?"

Santana turns at the waist, her long dark hair sliding over her left shoulder as she leans back on her left elbow. She sees Rachel walking toward her in the dim evening light but she doesn't get up. Her bare legs are crossed in front of her, the fingers of her right hand near but not quite touching the water that laps up against the edge of the pool.

It's a lazy motion, a comfortable one. Rachel hasn't disturbed Santana from her early evening repose, just joined her in it.

This tranquility between them is new.

There was a time when the mere sound of Rachel's voice would make Santana go rigid. "Fellow students..." and her throat would tighten, her hands and toes and thighs would clench, bricking back the flood of feelings that invaded her body in Rachel's presence - anger, confusion. Jealousy.

Back in those days, back in her cheerios uniform, Santana had everything Rachel didn't. She was popular, she was feared. She had boys and friends and money. Day in and day out Santana watched her suffer slushie facials and kick me signs and feet thrust out to trip her. It was well established that Rachel was thoroughly insignificant. But Rachel still smiled, still sang, still pasted those fucking stars up next to her name with a confidence that bordered on delusional.

Quinn would say, "Who does she think she is?" and Santana would shrug and sneer.

But Santana knew all along who Rachel thought she was. She knew, because she had been to Rachel's house and she had seen her shine in her father's eyes like a star.

When they were in second grade Santana and Rachel had been on the verge of friendship. They had a lot of important things in common. They both liked Christina better than Britney and purple better than pink and were the only two in the class deemed good enough readers by Mrs. Pelton in the library to try reading the first Harry Potter book on their own.

One day at recess, Santana had climbed to the highest platform on the jungle gym and pretended it was a stage, belting out a Destiny's Child song while Brittany stayed at ground level and played the audience, clapping and cheering and dancing along. Rachel was scared to climb up that high, but she watched too, and when Santana came down, Rachel said she had a real stage at home, and Santana should come over to play.

Santana had been wary, but interested enough to go. And Rachel's house turned out to be a lot of fun. Rachel had trunks full of dress up clothes for wardrobe

changes and real microphones to sing into.

Santana had started to think that she and Rachel were alike in their differences. They were smaller, darker, mouthier than most of their classmates. She thought Rachel's house would be like hers too.

In some ways it was - same two car garage, same bay window in the front room, same rule to take school shoes off in the front hall. Like Santana's house, Rachel's house was quiet and immaculate - nothing like Brittany's house, which was full of baby sister noises and baby sister toys.

But there were some things about Rachel's house that startled Santana, demonstrated differences that forced a shift in her thinking.

The lack of a mother wasn't one of those things.

Rachel's dad at home on a Thursday afternoon, happily cutting fluffernutter sandwiches into star shapes for them, was.

Santana's father left as she was waking up and didn't come home until after her bedtime. When he was home, he was usually busy with something work related – conference papers, networking dinners - unfathomable occupations full of syllables and empty of meaning, even for a smart 7 year-old like Santana. He tried to make time. On Sunday evenings, he'd call Santana into his study and show her neat things - how to sign her name in script, how a hip joint worked.

His hair was already sprinkled with gray. He didn't do piggy back rides. He never cut sandwiches.

Santana's mom didn't cut sandwiches either. She was in college. Again. She hadn't finished the first time, she had married Santana's father and had Santana instead, not exactly in that order. She had gone back to school when Santana started first grade, after a few loud fights. The last one had been loud enough to get Santana out of bed and onto the stairway landing where she hid herself in a shadow just in time to hear "…stay in this house every day for the next 10 years, pretending to be your perfect fucking trophy wife, I will fucking kill myself."

She had wondered for a week what a trophy wife was, then spent an afternoon staring at the "MVP - Lobos de Arecibo, 1970" trophy that her father kept on a special shelf behind his desk and got the gist of it.

Her mother had promised that they could do homework together.

But Santana's mother's homework was long and boring and required hours of silence from Santana. Santana had squirmed and whined. She guessed that was why her mother got a study partner named Marcus instead.

Marcus was taller than Santana's dad, younger than her mother. His long, brown, stupid bangs flipped into his stupid eyes like stupid Leonardo DiCaprio from the stupid movies. Santana had only seen him once, when he came to drop off a book and hold a hurried, hushed conversation with her mother that started with her mother hissing "You can't just show up like this. What if he were home?" and ended with Marcus convincing her mother to come out "…just for a drive."

He had smiled at Santana, but he had smiled at her mother a whole lot more.

Santana hadn't smiled at him at all.

With both parents busy, Santana got her after school snacks from the housekeeper. They varied wildly, from Ritz crackers with messy dabs of peanut butter on them to frosted pop tarts if she whined enough to reheated leftovers from her parent's restaurant dinners that sometimes tasted awesome and sometimes presented perplexing flavor combinations - chocolate and hot pepper, apricots and fish.

But Rachel got her daddy at home and perfect sandwiches in perfect shapes, and cold, cold chocolate milk mixed hard, until it was frothy on top. Rachel got her drawings on the fridge and her picture on almost every wall, her name on the frames in swirly glittering letters.

Rachel got phone calls in the middle of the afternoon from her other dad, just to say hi, and sing for me, and I love you.

Similar things went on at Brittany's house, but Brittany was so different, so pretty and strange, it was easy to see why her mom would make her a Barbie princess cake even when it was nowhere near her birthday, or her dad would always come into the playroom and hug Brittany when he got home from work, first thing after he kissed her mom hello.

Brittany was special. She deserved treats and presents. Santana would have given her those things herself if she could.

But Rachel wasn't special. She was just like Santana.

So Santana couldn't figure out why Rachel got songs at home and she got silence; why Rachel got parents and Santana got space in the shape of parents.

The next time Rachel asked Santana over, Santana told her she didn't want to go to her weird house with her weird dads and their weird sandwiches.

Rachel had sniffled and Santana had shoved her, muttered "Go tell your dads" and run to hide in the dark space under the slide. She had stayed there until Brittany came to tell her recess was over.

And for years, that's what Rachel's voice had done to her, re-delivered that sinking sick feeling that came she had realized it wasn't just Brittany's house that was so different from hers. Everyone else went home and mattered immensely. But at her house, Santana was just an inconvenient development in a story that wasn't about her.

But now Santana has her own story and Rachel doesn't bother her anymore.

"Couldn't sleep? Me neither."

Rachel sits down next to Santana, slides her feet out of her shoes. Santana can't help but roll her eyes. It's 7pm, in 90 degree heat, in a crap ass motel in gross Pennsylvania and Rachel is wearing shiny loafers, complete with shiny pennies in them. Santana might have stopped saddling Rachel with the scars of her family disfunction but that didn't make the girl un-weird.

"No... I..." Santana trails off. She can speak to Rachel in generalities. They can plan picnics and pick music and share candy. But there's no way she can tell her the reason she hasn't slept hardly at all is because she spent the past few hours watching Brittany sleep, marveling at her eyelashes and smelling her breath and biting her own lip hard to keep from screaming out "MARRY ME."

She had managed to whisper it instead, her lips pressed right up against Brittany's jugular vein, so the secret went straight into her bloodstream, then gotten up to go outside. She didn't want to scare Brittany. She was starting to scare herself.

Rachel pokes a tentative toe toward the water, but notices the scuzz in the pool – dead leaves, wasp carcasses, a band aid - and draws back, wrinkling her nose.

"Ew. I cant believe people swim in that."

"People are disgusting."

She expects indignation from Rachel, an inspirational speech, but instead Rachel laughs, settles into more comfortable position beside her.

Silence falls for a moment, the hum air conditioning units and the whine of cars on the highway fills the space between them.

"It's Thursday." Santana says, and throws a sizable pebble toward the water with a sudden, violent flick of her wrist. It hits the other edge of the pool, ricochets back into the water, sinks with a plop.

Rachel knows what she means. It's Thursday and tomorrow morning they have to turn around and start heading for home.

"We still have the world's largest Pez dispenser tomorrow. And Christmas Village tomorrow night..."

Santana smiles a little. "Brittany will like that one."

"So we won't be home until Saturday night, anyway."

But Rachel feels it too now, the uncomfortable creep of the familiar.

They sit saying nothing, watching cars whine past on the highway, until Brittany pads outside in her bare feet, bites Santana gently on the neck and reminds them to call for a pizza.

* * *

**Thoughts? I'd especially like to know what people thought of the way I went with Santana's family backstory, and her relationship with Rachel. But feedback on Tina's attempt to eat a giant lollipop is also appreciated.**

**;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi...**** I haven't died! I've been here all along, just busy with some original work, and some life stuff. THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the people who continue to harass me to finish what I start. This is the last chapter of this roadtrip fic. It turned out differently than I originally envisioned it, but I kinda like where it went. Let me know what you think... :)**

Midnight in one last roadside motel found Rachel and Quinn and Santana tossing back beers and ignoring the clock. They were slated to start for home at 9 the next morning, but they were in no mood to be punctual. The three of them couldn't wait to leave Lima, and they sure as hell weren't too thrilled about heading back.

Brittany was happy wherever she was, but if going home meant no more Santana sleepovers, it wasn't her favorite direction to head in. She snuggled her forehead into Santana's neck and didn't remind anyone what time it was.

But after a week on the road, Tina wanted her bed, her boyfriend and some food that didn't come off a convenience store shelf. So when Brittany and Santana finally went back to their room at 2AM with half of the last six pack and Quinn and Rachel took the other three bottles with them to sit out by the motel pool, Tina stayed behind, neatly folding her t-shirts and thinking of Mike's arms folding around her. She zipped her bag, swallowed two Advil and put herself to bed.

But now it's almost 9:30 the next morning, and Quinn and Rachel still refuse to move from the other queen sized bed. Tina reaches out and shakes Rachel's shoulder, but she just groans and turns over without opening her eyes. Tina sighs and kills a few minutes by walking down to the vending machines for a Diet Coke. On the way back, she considers knocking on Santana and Brittany's door, but loud giggles and the rhythmic squealing of bedsprings stop her before her fist hits the door. Knowing those two, they are just as likely to be jumping on the bed as they are to be having sex, but it's too early in the day for Tina to be faced with either reality.

Back at the room she's sharing with Quinn and Rachel, Tina makes sure to clink the keys and make the door squeal on its hinges. She plinks her soda can down on a table with force. Quinn stirs at the noises, squints against the sunlight that streams in from the open door.

"God. Tell me you have Advil?"

Tina nods and crosses to her bag to retrieve the bottle. She tosses across the room.

Quinn catches it; the rattle of the pills as it smacks into Quinn's hand awakens Rachel.

"Ow…" Rachel winces, and covers her head with a pillow. "Soft sounds, please. Soft sounds."

Quinn and Rachel look so pale and pathetic, Tina takes pity on them, finds a half full bottle of water and brings it over to their side of the room.

"So…I guess I should text Mike that we'll be home later than we…"

"Stop yelling." Rachel's muffled voice floats up from under the pillow.

"Can you turn up the AC? And close the blinds?" Quinn whines and pulls the covers up over her head.

Tina finishes texting Mike before she follows Quinn's directions. In the middle of the dim, chilly room, she stops to consider her options. After a minute, she opens her neatly packed bag, takes out her bathing suit and sunscreen and turns to grab a stack of Rachel's Entertainment Weekly magazines. If she has to waste the morning waiting for their hangovers to clear, she might as well do it out by the pool.

* * *

By 11:30 all the girls have trickled out to the pool, and are drowsing on deck chairs, letting their stomachs settle and their minds wander. Quinn holds "The Stranger" open with her index finger but doesn't actually read anything. Rachel flips through songs on her ipod, humming. Santana tans, Tina burns, and Brittany watches two kids in the pool play Marco Polo.

Santana decides she's awake enough to be bored, gets up, pulls a pair of shorts on over her bikini bottoms and walks the perimeter of the motel. When she gets back to their group of lounge chairs, she nudges Tina's chair with her knee.

"I know you wanna get back to loverboy. Let's get lunch, then we'll go"

"What?" Tina takes out an earbud and sits up halfway.

"Lunch?" Santana points at the deli across the highway. "Then back to..." Santana trails off, a scowl on her face.

"Oh. Cool." Tina smiles, stands up, slips a cotton dress on over her bathing suit.

Santana squints into the distance, but in the end, she can't keep her eyes from tracking downward toward Tina's cleavage.

"Santana!" Tina throws an arm over her chest, scandalized.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Learn to take a compliment." she turns to Quinn. "We're gonna..."

Quinn raises a hand, waves lazily without glancing up.

In the next chair over, Rachel takes her headphones off and pipes up. "Are you getting food? Do you think they have any citrus fruit? I really feel my vitamin c intake has been..."

"Rachel, I doubt 'The Turtle Creek House of Pizza and Roast Beef' is importing fresh mandarins daily."

"Oh, well. Maybe some juice?"

Santana shakes her head and turns toward the pool. "Brittany!"

"Yeah?" Brittany surfaces in the shallow end. She's jumped in to join the game of Marco Polo, but the game disintegrated the minute she dove in. The older boy, who seems to be about 12, has swum to the deep end, where he's clinging to the ladder and watching Brittany bounce around the pool with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

The smaller boy is about 5. He's leaping at Brittany, trying to land on her back.

"Jason, leave that girl alone." The small boy's mother is spread across a few deck chairs at the far end of the pool, tending to a set of 2 year old twins, both of them itchy from sunburn and cranky from the heat.

"Brit, We're gonna hit that deli. What do you want?"

"A surprise?"

"Salty or sweet?"

"Hmm…Salty."

The older boy climbs out of the pool, gets a running start and tries a forward flip into the water. He smacks his back a little on the entry, but his effort is passable. He surfaces and looks hopefully in Brittany's direction.

Brittany is busy flicking water at Santana's knee. She lowers her eyelashes, coy. "I've already got sweet."

Santana grins, sticks a toe in the water and splashes back, aiming at Brittany's cleavage.

Jason leaps for Brittany's shoulders again and lands short, giving her a face full of water.

"What did I just tell you, Jason?" his mother really raises her voice this time. "Connor, get your brother away from that girl."

Connor hesitates, intrigued but terrified by the idea of moving any closer to Brittany.

"It's ok!" Brittany calls to Jason's mother, "I'm not a bad person!" she turns back to the boy. "Want a piggy back ride?"

Jason nods happily and takes hold of Brittany's shoulders for a ride around the pool.

Santana smiles at Brittany and the little boy, but when she catches a glimpse of Connor she grows wary. She's seen that look more times then she cares to recall. Puck, Finn, Artie and especially Mike seem to have grown out of it. But Jacob Ben-Israel still gets that gaped, gasping face every time he's aroused. Which is inappropriately often when he's around her and Brittany. She makes a mental note to look up sexual harassment laws. Maybe there's something she can sue Jacob for. That would make senior year a hell of a lot more interesting.

Santana walks to Connor's end of the pool and nudges his elbow with her foot. "Hey."

He looks up, startled, blushing.

"No piggy back rides for you, you little perv. You got that?"

He stares at her, open mouthed.

Santana waits a minute, but gets nothing but silence. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head and leans in closer.

"Ok then, let me slow it down for you, mini mouthbreather. You do not touch that gorgeous blonde girl with your grubby little adolescent paws. You do not touch her with any part of that walking collection of uncontrolled excretions that you call a body. If you do, I will bust the locks on these flimsy ass motel doors until I find where you sleep and I will cut you. Do. You. Got. That?"

Connor blinks, gasps, barely manages to nod.

"Awesome. Thanks!"

Santana flashes him a smarmy, tight lipped smile and turns on her heel.

The boy gapes at her back, then turns to Tina, searching for an explanation for the force of nature he has just encountered.

Tina shrugs. "The last guy who touched her girlfriend...is in a _wheelchair_."

* * *

By the time they finally pile into the car at 1:30, the sun has gone in and there's a light drizzle starting up. When they cross the Ohio state line an hour later, a steady stream of rain is hitting the windshield .

Quinn and Rachel and Tina are in the back seat, cuddled up against a week's worth of souvenir plush toys, feet placed carefully to avoid stepping on the shot glasses they've brought back for the boys, the mugs and magnets for moms and dads. In the middle, Rachel has to tilt her knees to one side. Right now they're tilted toward Quinn.

The car bounces a little over a rough patch of road. They all sway, and Rachel's knees dig into Quinn's thighs, harder than a nudge.

Quinn pushes back a little and squirms in her seat. "Move, Rachel."

It's a soft, grumbled sigh, with none of the old sharp sting underneath.

Rachel tries to give Quinn a little more room, but there really isn't any. Quinn frowns and butts her head into Rachel's shoulder.

The boundaries of personal space have softened and shifted over the past week for everyone in the car. Quinn decides she's perfectly comfortable there, her cheek nudged against the outside of Rachel's left arm.

Santana is in the passenger seat, watching them in the rearview mirror. Since she's not driving, she has plenty of time to turn around and raise an eyebrow at Quinn.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "There's such a thing as platonic cuddles, Santana."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

Brittany takes a hand off the steering wheel and gives Santana a high five.

Tina snickers. Quinn decides to change the subject.

"Santana, can you pass me a juice box?"

There's a pile of Motts White Grape juice boxes at Santana's feet, but she doesn't reach down.

"You guys need to stop with the fucking juice all the time. We've barely been in the car an hour and we've already stopped to pee every…"

Quinn nudges the back of the Brittany's seat with her knee. "Nice mom, tell mean mom to give us our juice."

Brittany giggles, but Santana scowls and chucks three juice boxes in the back seat, without regard for who they land on.

"When Britts and I have kids they're not gonna be _juice whores_ like you three."

The girls are laughing at "juice whores" but Santana's cheeks are suddenly hot. Everything she thinks is just flying out of her mouth these days.

"We'll still love them if they're cookie addicts though, right?"

At Brittany's voice, Santana looks up. The very beginning of a grin lifts the left corner of her mouth.

"Yep." She laces her fingers with Brittany's. "We'll get them into a good treatment program."

Brittany nods, eyes still on the road. "Cookieholics Anonymous. My uncle went. He's so much better now, but it kind of sucks that his breath doesn't smell like chocolate chips anymore."

In the backseat, Tina and Rachel are exchanging incredulous looks, but Quinn doesn't join in. Instead, she watches Santana's grin go from tiny to tremendous, sees the embarrassed flush fade from her face.

The rain beats on and they all relax. Even with only one hand on the wheel, Brittany is the one they trust most on a slippery road. She hasn't bothered to turn on the GPS. She knows exactly where they are and exactly how to get them home.

* * *

"Bye! Hi!"

Tina bounces out of the car, waving to her mom and dad on the porch. Mike is already at the trunk of the car, lifting out Tina's bags.

"Have fun?"

Tina answers him with a kiss.

* * *

"Is that your father's car?" Santana is driving now, and Brittany is in the passenger seat, knees up to her nose.

Quinn slides glances out the window, then slides down in her seat until she can't see out the window anymore.

"Is that a yes?"

"If you don't want to go home yet you can come…" Rachel starts.

"No." Quinn hears herself, sits up straight and starts again. "No. Thanks. I should…"

She starts to slide out of the car, stops when the porch light comes on.

Brittany puts her feet down and turns in her seat. "Maybe he's here to apologize."

Santana can't help herself, she snorts out a laugh, then meets Quinn's eye in the rearview mirror. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Quinn shoulders her backpack. "And it's a nice idea, Brit. But probably not, you know?"

Brittany nods. "I know. But I'm just saying, maybe."

Quinn nods, her eyes a little brighter. "Maybe."

Rachel watches, fascinated . She's never seen them work like this before.

"You can call me."

Rachel's voice is far too loud. But she wants to be a part of this something.

"I mean, Santana and Brittany will probably be… If you want to talk. Later. Quinn, you can call me."

"Thanks, Rachel. I um. I might."

"Ok."

"Ok."

"Ok."

…

"Oh MY GOD. Ok already, get in your damn house, Fabray."

* * *

Rachel is standing in her driveway, rolling suitcase in hand. Her fathers are leaning out the front door, a tray of frosty lemonade glasses in hand, waiting to welcome her home. But they know there's no point in rushing Rachel through a farewell.

"I'd just like to say..."

In the driver's seat, Santana sighs. "And here I thought we were going to get through one whole day without a speech from you..."

Rachel persists. "I'd just like to say that this was one of the best experiences..."

Santana lets Rachel rattle on, but her eyes are on her girlfriend. It was Brittany's idea to take this wacked out trip, Brittany's idea to give them all something special to share.

Santana reaches across the gearshift for Brittany's hand.

"Hey, Rachel, you're right."

Rachel pauses, mid sentence. "Huh?"

"You're right. This was awesome. Totally speech worthy. Thanks to Brit."

Rachel rises up on the balls of her feet, pleased.

Brittany can't stop grinning. "Next year, I'm thinking a Europe trip. There's a miniature animal farm in France that…"

"Oh my god, and Kurt and I NEED to tour the theaters of London…"

Santana doesn't even roll her eyes.

* * *

"Not yet."

Brittany's voice is soft and sleepy, but Santana doesn't need much convincing. She just glances at the clock on the dashboard. Brittany told her mom she'd be home around 8. It is 8:12 now. They have about a half hour before Brittany is officially late in the Pierce time zone, so she obediently skips the turn off to Brittany's block and drives on through the dark suburban streets.

Santana hasn't mentioned an arrival time to her parents. She's barely spoken to them all week - a call to her dad on Wednesday to say happy birthday, which he answered almost before the first ring was over. He'd been happy to hear from her - asked her if she was having fun, asked her if she was taking care of the car, asked her if she was staying out of trouble and away from boys. Brittany had been lying on the pillow next to her, heard it all and had to stifle her laughter in Santana's armpit.

He hadn't listened much to the answers, but he'd asked.

Her mother had been out.

"Daddy, it's your BIRTHDAY."

Her father had sighed. "We'll...we'll celebrate together when you get home, Santana."

She had said goodbye and I love you and clicked off the call wondering what had happened to the too busy and important father, the big absent presence. Now he always seemed to be at home when no one else was, reaching for a little girl that had changed shape when he wasn't looking, surprised to find her stomach now where her head used to be.

When her mother had called on Thursday she hadn't answered the phone.

On Friday she had answered her mother's text - "Coming back, or can I turn your room into a workout room?" with equal snark.

"Saturday night. Better get your boyfriend out from under my bed."

Her mother hadn't texted back.

After 5 days of sing-alongs and Cosmo quizzes and "would you rather?", driving in silence feels cozy and grown up.

Santana pulls into the parking lot of the elementary school, puts the car in park and cuts the engine. She slides down in her seat, closing her eyes.

"You have fun, Britt-Britt?" Santana used to use the childhood pet-name when she wanted something in particular. Since they've started dating, she has started to use it when she's tired, like now, or when Brittany just looks fucking adorable, like always.

Brittany nods, her eyes always on Santana. "Best time ever."

Santana smiles without opening her eyes. "I'm glad, baby."

Brittany leans over to kiss Santana's lips. Santana's eyes flutter open, eyelashes brushing against Brittany's cheek. She reaches out to pull Brittany closer, but Brittany pulls away and opens the door on her side of the car.

"Come. Brittany says over her shoulder. "Come."

Santana unbuckles her seatbelt and follows Brittany across the parking lot to the swing set.

Brittany moves to sit down on a swing, but Santana catches her wrist and draws her close.

"Thank you." The words are soft and warm against Brittany's mouth.

Brittany brushes hair back from Santana's eyes.

"For what?"

"For everything. You make me..." Santana trails off, embarrassed to find that she is suddenly feeling weepy. Brittany strokes soft hands down over Santana's shoulders, weaves their fingers together and waits.

Santana takes a deep breath and starts with the obvious.

"I love you. I love being with you every day. I love sleeping with you every night."

"I know that part…" Brittany leers a little, leans in and sneaks a kiss.

Santana is distracted by the taste of strawberry LipSmackers for a minute, but she still hasn't finished what she meant to say. She steps back from Brittany, but doesn't let go of her hand.

"No. Not that. I mean, that too but…" Santana tilts her head back to keep a tear from escaping and pretends to watch a plane blink across the night sky.

"Got a wish?" Brittany sits on one of the swings and tugs Santana into her lap.

Santana leans back into Brittany's body, hooks her left foot around Brittany's left ankle.

"Sometimes I wake up and I can't go back to sleep. I think of everything – global warming and gay bashing and what's going to happen to my dad when he gets old. I think about not having enough money to buy nice things and wonder if I'll be a shitty mom and…just…"

Santana's pulse speeds up as she imagines herself alone in the dark.

"But if you're there, I can just listen to you breathe. I press up against your back and I breathe out when you breathe out. I breathe in when you do. Then all of a sudden, I'm dreaming."

Brittany picks up Santana's hand, kisses every one of her fingers. "I love you too."

She nuzzles into the crook of Santana's shoulder and Santana squirms halfway around so she can kiss Brittany's cheek, her chin, her mouth.

Santana's heart is overfull with salty tears and silvery strings of Brittany's saliva, swollen with dreams and desire. The beats are low and loud, like a song sung underwater.

The song in her blood spills out of her mouth.

"You're my wish. For...Forever."

A year ago Santana would have panicked at her own words, pushed and ran. A month ago, she would have covered her blushes with bluster. A week ago, a day ago…she was never ready for now until now, but here she is. Just at the right time, she has become just the right girl.

Just right.

Brittany meets Santana's mouth, mumbling. "It's nice to be home."

**-The End-**


End file.
